


Agent Winchester.

by millygal



Series: HC_BINGO [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: 1944, Action/Adventure, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e12 Time After Time, F/M, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel Universe, SPN - Freeform, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: When Dean misses his window and doesn't manage to make it home piggy backing Chronos from 1944, he's forced to ask an unlikely set of allies for help. Between Peggy, Howard and the Howling Commandos, will Dean make it back to 2012 and Sam?





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JJ1564](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/gifts), [echoes_of_another_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/gifts).



> This is my third fic in my HC_Bingo, and I would never have made it through with this monster without jj1564 (beta and pompoms) and stir_of_echoes (ALL THE POMPOMS AND POKING!) Prompt - Fight. I've tweaked a few timelines, dicked with a few canon moments from both shows/films, but not many. All years are correct!

Sam’s almost bowled over by a figure falling face first from a haze of red smoke and sparks, and it only takes a second for him to realise Dean’s nowhere in sight.

FUCK!

As Chronos materialises in front of Sam and Jody and stumbles forward, a spindly looking piece of wood flies through the air, almost like someone’s thrown it full pelt into the vortex carrying the God.

Sam doesn’t think, just reacts, uses his Hunter instincts and surges forward.

Snatching the stake from the floor Sam buries it in Chronos’ chest and watches, impassive, as the God gurgles blood and sneers.

“You want to know your future? I know your future. It's covered in thick black ooze. It's everywhere. They're everywhere. Enjoy oblivion.”

As Chronos collapses, Sam’s entire nervous system begins to shut down. A very physical reaction to the reality that Dean didn’t make it, and is stuck somewhere in 1944 with no way back and no chance of communication.

Sam realises he must be going into shock, but Jody steps up and catches him as he falls, shouldering his weight to the floor and allowing him to tuck his head into the crook of her neck and sob.

Sleep deprivation combined with days of worrying about his brother force a noise from Sam that’s harrowing in intensity and pitch. It sets Jody’s teeth on edge, and it’s all she can do not to allow her own tears to fall as she rocks Sam gently. “Shhh, shh, it’s okay, we’ll fix it, we’ll find a way - “

The words spilling from Sam’s mouth are unintelligible.

The only thing she **does** recognise is Sam chanting _Dean_ over and over again, and her heart breaks for him.

~~~~~~

Well, crap.

All Dean had to do was hold on and ride the wave; instead he got his ass handed to him, and now he’s stuck in nineteen-forty-fucking-four with no way back and no way of making sure Sam’s okay.

He at least managed to throw the olive stake through the portal, so in theory Sam is somewhere in 2012 stabbing Chronos through his smug God chest, but Dean will never actually know, and that thought alone is making his own chest ache, let alone the fact he hasn’t got a cat in hell’s chance of getting home.

Eliot steps up behind Dean and lays what he hopes is a comforting hand on the man’s hunched shoulders as the Hunter kneels on the floor, tips his head back and pinches his busted nose. “Well, that went swimmingly.”

Dean flicks his eyes towards Eliot and sneers, showing blood-coated front teeth. “And the award for inappropriate sarcasm goes to Captain Obvious!”

“I’m not a Ca - “

Dean let’s go of his nose, struggles to his feet and rolls his eyes before spitting blood on the floor at Eliot’s feet. “You really need to stop takin’ me so literally. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Eliot nods towards Lila who’s rocking back and forward and whispering about impossible things. “What about the chippie?”

Dean’s not exactly the picture of comforting calm at the moment, with a split lip and bloody nose, but he crouches down in front of Lila and takes her hands in his. “Lila, honey, look at me.”

Lila turns watery eyes on Dean and launches herself into his arms. “Thank you, thank you. I - You - Thank you.”

Eliot never was any good with overt shows of emotion, so he pulls a cigarello from his tin and nods towards the front door. “I’ll be outside.”

“You’re a real hero, Ness.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ezra regards the two men dragging their sorry asses into her pristine shop, trailing dust, debris and blood all across her spit shined floor. “It went well, then?”

Dean growls and throws his hat across the room before slumping against the counter. “What is it with you two? Does livin’ in 1944 automatically make you staters of the fuckin’ obvious?”

The look Ezra shoots at Dean speaks of corporal punishment and serious amounts of pain if he ever uses that tone with her again, and he finds himself shrinking under her gaze. “M’sorry Ezra, it’s just - fuck!”

Ezra hangs Eliot’s coat up then steps in close to Dean. “Look, sweet-cheeks, I’m not exactly  a shrinkin’ wallflower, but if you use that kind of language in front of me again, I’ll wash your mouth out, with somethin’ a little more deadly than soap, we clear?”

Dean shuffles his feet and casts his eyes over Ezra’s shoulder to where Eliot is lounging in a chair and shaking his head. “No, Dean, she’s not joking and I learned that the _hard_ way.. I’d pick that hat up too if I were you, before she feeds it to you.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he limps towards his hat, laying upturned on the floor. “Sorry Ezra, won’t happen again.”

The tailor nods and smirks at Eliot’s quiet laughter and Dean’s guilty face before stepping behind the counter and wiping off the blood droplets slowly congealing on the glass. “Do me a favour, Dean, don’t go messin’ up my shop. This is still a business and blood tends to put people off.”

Dean winces, groans and bends to retrieve his hat. “Yes Ma’am.”

Lowering himself down onto the steps leading into the back room, Dean rests his chin in his hand and raises his eyebrows at Ezra. “So, Miss Ezra, you fine figure of a woman you...”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, handsome.”

Eliot rolls his eyes and snorts at his friend. “Stop flirting with the boy, you’d break him.”

Dean sees Ezra’s cheeks flush and can’t help the small huff of laughter. “Ahhh, she blushes. Anyway, don’t ‘spose you’ve got a way to get me home, have you?”

Ezra shakes her head and gives Dean a sympathetic look when he sighs and closes his eyes in defeat. “Honey tongued or not, I’ve got nothin’ son, sorry. Unless you’ve got a time machine tucked into those too-tight dress pants, I’m fresh outta ideas.”

“S’okay, I figured as much. So, where in 1944 can I get a decent shot of Jack and a burger?”

Dean’s quite clearly putting on a brave face, except his face is actually ashen and sallow and he’s squeezing his eyes tight against tears that are threatening to fall. Ezra’s heart goes out to the boy, and she wishes she could do something - “Unless…”

Dean’s head snaps up. “Unless?!”

Ezra almost topples onto her window display as Dean practically bounces into her. “Calm, calm.”

“Unless WHAT?”

This could be a very bad idea, but Dean’s renewed hope is worth the possible fall-out. It might even be worth the stink-eye Eliot’s giving her.

“Ezra, no. We said we wouldn’t get involved with that lot. Too much red tape and crazy, remember?”

“Eliot, you got an idea on how to get this lad back home? No, I didn’t think so. I know you can use him but he doesn’t _belong_ here. She might be able to help.”

Eliot sighs and flicks his wrist at Ezra. “Fine, but I am _not_ dealing with that uptight bi - woman, okay?”

Dean watches the exchange like a game of ping-pong; head whipping from Ezra to Eliot and back again. It takes all of his willpower not to shout at the pair of them. “Guys, explain, **please**.”

Ezra rolls her eyes at Eliot’s huffy child routine and turns her back on him. “There’s this woman, she’s a big noise in some kind of secret government project. The only reason we know anything about it is because we’ve run into them a few times on jobs - Eliot here’s not a huge fan, as you can probably tell.”

Dean bounces on the spot and tries not to reach out and shake the information out of the tailor, who’s clearly enjoying going against Eliot’s wishes because every time the Hunter snorts or mumbles something under his breath, Ezra smirks and speaks a little louder.

“She’s a stuck up wench and she looks down on _Hunters_.”

Ezra doesn’t even bother turning around to reply. “She’s also got a lot of high tech gadgets and magical whatsits at her disposal, Ness. Like I said, better ideas?”

“No.”

“Then shut **up**. Anyway, her name’s Peggy Carter. She’s been sendin’ me her ‘staff’ for a while now.”

“Oh HAS she?”

Ezra rounds on Eliot and pins him with a deadly stare. “For the last time, unless you can come up with a way to get Dean home that doesn’t involve asking Stark and Carter for help, hit me with it.”

“Don’t even get me started on Stark, complete and utter ba - “

“IF you have QUITE finished, Mr Ness!”

Dean feels sorry for Eliot as he shrinks down in his chair under the fiery eyes of Ezra. She is most definitely a woman not to be messed with. “You were sayin’, Ezra?”

Eliot mouths thank you over Ezra’s shoulder as she turns back towards Dean. “I could reach out, see if she has anythin’ that might help. How about that?”

Dean spots Eliot using his hands to imitate a mouth opening and closing over Ezra’s shoulder and tries not to smirk and give him away. “That would be brilliant, Ezra, thank you!”

“And don’t think I can’t see you in the glass, Eliot. You’ll pay for that later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam’s mind is complete mush, he’s been pouring over book after _book_ after **book** for so many days he’s lost count, and he can barely lift his head, let alone focus on the words swimming in front of his eyes, but he won’t give up. Dean wouldn’t give up if Sam were stuck almost seventy years in the past, and he won’t rest until he finds a way to retrieve his brother.

“Sam?”

Sam’s head turns sluggishly towards Jody who’s standing in the doorway to his bedroom holding a plate full of hot food and tutting at the state of the man sitting hunched against the skirting board with his name still etched into it.”You have to rest, Sam. This is ridiculous.”

How she did it, Sam doesn’t know, but Jody’s managed to not only get the titles drawn up and changed over, she’s also had the electric and gas turned back on and the tumble down two story shack is now at least half habitable.

After he refused to leave the house, refused to walk away from the one place Dean had managed to communicate through, Jody had finally lost her temper at Sam and snapped his muzzy head off.

_“Sam Winchester you are a stubborn fool.”_

_“J-J-Jody, seriously, just go. I can handle this on my own.”_

_“If you’re going to stay here in this rat hole I’m not gonna leave you alone. God only knows what you’ll end up looking like. You need to eat, and sleep, and take some fucking help! Dean will kick both our asses if I let you waste away to nothing.”_

The mention of his brother had pushed Sam over the edge and he’d nodded dejectedly, not having the energy to argue any more and desperately needing someone to drag him back to himself.

She’d set about fixing it so they could legally stay in the house for as long as they needed, and now they can at least prepare hot meals and have tepid showers once in awhile.

“Eat.”

Sam shifts over enough that Jody can sit down next to him and hand over the plate.

Eyeing the food with disdain, Sam pokes at it with a fingernail until Jody growls in his ear.

“Eat it, or wear it, your choice.”

Sam manages to muster enough energy and enthusiasm to smirk at Jody’s _Mom_ voice and takes the threat seriously, having already had to wash soup out of his hair. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Don’t Ma’am me, I’m only ten years older than you.”


	2. Two.

Dean knocks on the door of the house Sam’s hopefully still occupying in 2012.

Shuffling his feet and waiting patiently for the owner to open the door, Dean’s fairly fucking certain Sam’s hanging on for dear life and refusing to leave until he finds answers. If that’s the case then he can at least send a one way communication, let his brother know he’s safe, or you know, not dead.

The owner peers through the glass and narrows his eyes before swinging the door inwards. “Now listen here sonny-Jim, I can’t be having you keep turning up and doing inspections, this is my home, and we’re about to eat dinner!

“It won’t take a minute sir, I just need to double check my findings and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Fine, fine, but I’m not letting you in again, you hear?”

Dean doesn’t even bother replying, simply shoots up the stairs and into the room Sam should be sleeping in.

Seeing the skirting board, still with his fresh scratches on it, Dean grabs his flick knife and starts etching something else into the wood.

~~~~~~~~~

Sam trudges up the stairs and turns into his room, now outfitted with at least a single camp bed, courtesy of Jody’s bitching and moaning about living in a squat that looks like a squat when they aren’t actually squatting.

Sighing as he heaves the pile of books in his arms on to the makeshift desk - made out of two crates that used to house Bobby’s many nic-nacs and spell ingredients - Sam casts a cursory glance at the skirting board with his name carved into it, only to nearly fall over when he spots an extra set of etchings. “JODY!!!!”

Jody hears Sam’s screech and comes pounding up the stairs, almost going straight through several rotted out steps. “WHAT?!”

Sam simply points at the skirting board and burbles.

Jody sees, “Oi, bitch!”, etched next to Sammy and understands her friend’s reaction. Turning to Sam, Jody clicks her fingers in his face, but he’s still peering at the lettering as if it appeared by magic.

Sighing and smiling gently at him, Jody shoves her hand in his pocket and roots around for his flick knife.

Sam feels Jody’s hand scraping against his thigh through his jeans and jumps about a foot in the air. “HEY!”

“Pay attention then. Don’t just look at it!”

Sam tries to ignore the warm tingle tickling the base of his spine and making his ears go bright red, and does his best not to _notice_ Jody’s very womanly smirk because she clearly knows exactly what she’s just done but is acting like butter wouldn’t melt. “Y-Y-You could have a-a-asked.”

Sam’s stutter makes Jody chuckle and look away because the thoughts rolling through her head right now are less than pure and she’s meant to be taking care of Sam, not _taking care_ of Sam.

However, he is just too adorable for words with those dimples and that hair, all floppy and fluffy and shiny.

Pulling herself together, Jody waggles her hand for the knife which Sam’s finally dug out of his pocket. “Gimme, Moose.”

Sam’s still too busy _ignoring_ his physical reaction to Jody’s closeness to really pay much attention to her eye roll and huffed laughter as she snatches the blade from his hand. It’s only as she bends to pry the skirting board away from the wall that Sam’s mind comes into sharp focus. “Is there anything there?”

Jody pulls a dusty yellowed piece of paper from behind the skirting board and hands it straight to Sam, knowing that he’ll want to read it first and she has no right to take that away from him.

Laying it in his open palm, Jody pats him on the shoulder and steps away. “I’ll be downstairs, okay?”

Sam watches her go, all the while confused about his feelings and wanting to rip open the folded piece of paper. Belatedly he shouts thanks down the stairs, not knowing if she’s heard him or not.

Peering at the paper for a second, he carefully, oh so carefully, unfolds it.

The writing is faded and hard to read but it’s definitely Dean’s penmanship.

The elation at being able to grasp, however intangibly, something that Dean’s touched, allows Sam to let out a breath he feels like he’s been holding for weeks. “Finally. Took you long enough!”

It’s not like Dean can hear him, but that doesn’t stop Sam talking to his brother as if he’s standing next to him. “What were you doing?!”

_Sammy,_

_Dude, I bet your face was a picture when Chronos turned up and I didn’t!_

_No, really, sorry man. I overshot the mark and got my ass handed to me, but I’m fine. I’m still in 1944 but I’m fine._

_Ezra, the tailor that Eliot Ness uses a bit like we had Bobby, she put me in contact with a group of people who are working for the government but might have a way of getting me home._

_Don’t lose all hope of never having to hear my snoring again!_

_I’ve set up a drop box for us, it’s at sixth and west. It’s a 100 hundred year lease (Eliot was not happy to have to shell out for that, let me tell you!) but it means I can keep you up to date at least._

_Don’t give up, Brother. I’ll make it home._

_Dean x_

~~~~~~~~~

Dean stands pressed, dressed and as upright as he’s ever been. Nervous as hell and waiting outside a steel door thick enough to withstand bomb blasts and bazooka attacks, and wonders how the fuck it’s _always_ him in these bloody situations.

It’s never Sammy.

Sam never finds himself all alone and stranded in alternative universes or outer dimensions, and Dean’s starting to wonder if he pissed off a higher being that controls destiny and whatnot. That or he’s been hexed and just hasn’t found the damned bag yet.

The thought of his brother, alone and scared and not knowing what’s going on, makes Dean’s heart skip a couple of beats, but he clings to the thought that these people might be able to get him home, or at least find a way to send a more reliable message to Sam.

Ezra’s already given him a few pointers, and a few warnings. Prime amongst them being best behaviour at all times and no smart mouthed remarks, because Peggy Carter doesn’t suffer fools, and male fools with delusions of grandeur are her least favourite flavour. She apparently already has one of those to deal with on a daily basis.

The tailor also gave him a small insight into why exactly Eliot and Peggy don’t see eye to eye.

_”Whatever you do kid, don’t try it on. Ness here thought he was being suave and smooth and she shot him down like a Howitzer, now they’re constantly at each other’s throats.”_

Grinning to himself, remembering the way Eliot had coughed and excused himself from the room, Dean thinks perhaps he should listen to everything Ezra says, even if it’s just hints on recipes and house cleaning tips. The woman is, after all, the female version of Bobby, and a tough old bird to boot.

Removing his hat, straightening his tie, Dean lifts his hand and slams his open palm against the door three times, and waits.

Sure enough someone slams back three times so he raps his knuckles twice against the metal, wincing at the still healing scuffs and bruises on all his fingers.

Finally, after what seems like an age, the door swings inwards and Dean is faced with a grinning man with a moustache that looks like it should be dripping grease. “Howard, I presume?”

Stark stares at the man standing in front of him and thinks it’s probably about time they got some new male blood around here. Too many women for his liking, not that he’d ever say that in front of Carter. “Dean Winchester, I presume?”

Dean bows his head once and smiles. “Ezra sent me. She thinks you can help get me home.”

Howard stares at Dean and realises the story Peggy relayed about time travelling monster hunters isn’t perhaps as crazy as he first expressed out loud and got an open palmed slap for. There’s an air of displacement about Winchester. He’s solid enough but he doesn’t seem to _fit_ the space around him. Huh, who knew? Time travel’s a thing. Then again, if they can create super soldiers out of nerds with noodle arms, who’s to say time travel isn’t a legitimate issue. “In you come, you’re letting the hot air out. It’s bloody freezing this time of year.”

Considering Dean’s staring into a room full of bustling soldiers, information gatherers, women decked out in military uniform and scientists all milling around, discussing the weather seems a little mundane, but Howard Stark strikes him as a strange sort of dude any how.

There’s something about the oily sod - Eliot’s words - that screams _not of the norm_.

Stepping inside the bunker, Dean fights a sudden sense of sadness at the idea that Sam can’t see all this. History was always a thing for his brother, being slap bang in the middle of a covert war effort would have floated all his boats.

Howard points towards an office tucked behind a stack of shelves and ushers Dean towards it. “She’s waiting for you. Fair warning, hands off, she’s mine, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

The smirk that accompanies that statement speaks of _knowing_ he doesn’t have a chance, that he’s happily kidding himself. When Dean taps lightly on the door to the office and is granted access by a very gentle. “Enter.” he understands _why_ Howard would want to pretend he had any sort of hope.

Peggy Carter is _stunning_.

Stunning might actually be too dull of a word to describe the woman sitting behind a giant hardwood desk and peering intently at maps and compass coordinates. Peggy is, well she’s the very _picture_ of forties chic and beauty.

Dean can vaguely hear Ezra in the back of his mind shouting, “Tuck it back, son, unless you want it lopped off”, and remembers to roll his tongue back into his mouth before Peggy looks up from her notes.

“Dean Winchester?”

“Y-y-yes?”

“Don’t you know?”

The slight spark of sarcasm isn’t lost on Dean, and he realises he’s going to need to be careful or Peggy Carter will run rings around him.

Stepping up in front of the desk, Dean shoves his hand out and raises an eyebrow. “Dean Winchester, currently residing in 1944, needing to get home to 2012. Pleased to meet you.”

Thinking he’d wrong foot her, at least, Dean’s shocked and not a little impressed when Peggy stands and grips his hand hard before shaking it and peering at him intently. “So, they haven’t beaten the bravado out of men in your year then, shame.”


	3. Three.

“You want to WHAT?!”

Peggy doesn’t quail, she doesn’t quaver and she certainly doesn’t back down. It wouldn’t do to allow this man to think he can start speaking to her like that, despite his higher rank. Stars, stripes and inverted V’s mean almost nothing in this room. “Colonel Phillips I _want_ to commission Dean Winchester as an outside contractor. An agent, if you will. He’s got the experience, he's also got prior knowledge of future events.”

Colonel Chester Phillips stares at Agent Carter like she’s started spinning on the spot without her top on. “Prior knowledge of future events - you do realise how fucking idiotic that sounds, don’t you, Carter?”

Dean’s learned a lot in his brief time in this year, and even he recognises the invisible steam rolling out of Peggy’s ears. “Colonel Phillips, first of all, I am more than proficient in all combat situations and well trained in firearms and weaponry, second of all, I don’t think we should be speaking to a lady like that, do you?”

Chester Phillips has seen a lot in his tenure as a US Military man, but he’s never seen an upstart talk to him like they were friends. “ **First** of all _we_ aren’t speaking to anyone like anything, **second** , Carter isn’t a lady, she’s a damned agent and she’ll do as I bloody well tell her.”

Peggy bristles but she knows her commanding officer well enough to see he’s on the cusp of caving in to her request, and so waggles her fingers at Dean, making him shut his mouth before arguing and earning a firing squad farewell.

“Having said all of that, Carter’s never steered me wrong, so I’ll let this one fly, for now. One foot out of line and I send you off the edge of an in flight bomber, understand?”

Dean smirks but feels the heat from Phillips sneer all the way across the room, so ducks his head and nods. “Understood - sir.”

“Well then, get on with it.”

As Colonel Phillips spins and walks away, Peggy grins at Dean and shakes her head. “The old man’s a little grouchy, but once you get to know him he’s a peach, an absolute peach.”

“I am NOT a peach, Carter!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jody’s had more than enough of Sam’s morose attitude over the last few weeks, and now Dean’s finally made contact and confirmed he’s not dead, she thinks it’s about time the Hunter took a minute to breathe and appreciate the fact he isn’t alone in the universe.

Even if Dean had died, which she doesn’t wish and can’t even bare to think about, Sam wouldn't be _alone_. He has her. He has Garth. He has a lifetime of knowledge and a way to do some good. It’s about time he bucked his damned ideas up.

“Sam, get your lanky ass out here.”

Sam comes loping in from the kitchen and finds Jody standing in the middle of their living room.

 _Their_ living room. That’s a new one on Sam. He’s only ever played house with Dean, and when they do it they have less electricity and hot food, and more rats and cockroaches for company.

It takes a second but Sam finally realises Jody’s got her proverbial gladrags on. Her hairs spiked up in all directions, and she’s wearing make-up; gorgeous low light shades on her cheeks and lids, making her eyes sparkle and shine in the minimal light.

The shock of seeing her _made up_ is compounded by the fact she’s wearing a **dress**.

A dress short enough to see the tantalising curve of her ass cheeks.

As the thought of that hits him square in the chest his heart starts to race. Beats a million miles a minute. “You look - you look _gorgeous_. What’s the occasion?”

Jody chooses not to crow at the image of Sam’s cheeks flushing crimson, instead she steps up in front of him and smiles demurely before mock whispering in a voice laden with sarcasm. “Turns out, I don’t scrub up too bad, and I am going bloody stir crazy sitting in this house watching you twiddle your thumbs. It’s about time you started hunting again. Even if it’s only in this area. I know you need to stay close for the dead drop. But - that’s tomorrow’s problem, today’s is I wanna dance and you’re the only partner available. Come on, long and tall. Out.”

Sam suddenly understands why Dean’s had a massive crush on Jody for the last five years.

The idea that Sam’s being flirted with by the older woman of Dean’s dreams amuses the younger Winchester greatly and he can’t help the smug smirk plastered across his lips. “Gimme ten, I’ll shower and we can go.”

“Ten or I come in there and dress you myself.”

Sam half considers taking his time just to see if she’ll make good on her threat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean sits at a table in the mess waiting for Peggy to arrive and wondering what the hell men in the forties decided to sign on for.

Fighting for his country, he gets. Protecting the innocent from invasion and infiltration makes total sense.

Sitting in the butt end of nowhere in a tent with untethered sides whilst trying to nurse a rationed whisky and listening to a whole group of dudes pretending they’ve nailed more woman than they actually have and belching like warthogs, not his idea of funtimes.

Peggy peers through the tent opening and spots Dean, huddled at a table alone, and decides perhaps the time hopping enigma should get a proper taste of military life.

Sticking her fingers in her mouth and blowing, Peggy wolf whistles her friends and waits for Deans indignant shouts as he’s bodily lifted from the table.

“OI, GET OFF! What the FU - “

Peggy steps up next to the men all hoisting Dean above their heads and grins upwards.

“Agent Winchester, meet the Howling Commandos. These men are Bucky Barnes, Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Jacques Dernier. And this - “

From behind one flapping tent sleeve strolls a man decked out in bright blue, white and red stripes and one giant star emblazoned on his chest, and a wry smile on his face. “Are you scaring the new recruits, Peggy?”

“ - is Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, meet Dean Winchester. He’s our newest - he’s new.”

Dean almost falls out of the arms of the men still holding him aloft as he takes in the guy who’s grinning and rolling his eyes at Peggy. “You’re, you - you’re CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

“Heard of me, huh?”

“HEARD OF YOU? Heard of you, he says. You’re a fu - “

Peggy narrows her eyes and tisks and Dean swallows the rest of the word. “You’re a damn legend, man. Nice to meet you. Think you could ask this lot to let me down?”

Steve snorts at Dean’s reaction to his presence; he’s used to being idolised but generally it’s woman in short skirts and tight shirts that do the eyelash fluttering. He doesn’t normally have to deal with full grown burly men looking like they want to hump his left leg. “Let him down, boys.”

Dean finds his feet and stutters out his thanks before shoving his hand towards Steve, who happily takes it before noticing how hard Bucky’s staring at the newcomer. “Pleased to meet you, Dean. So how’d she hook you in?”

Dean takes a moment to steady his breathing and grins up at Steve Rogers who’s even taller in person than the pictures and baseball cards do him credit for. “Time traveller. Need a way home.”

Steve looks to Peggy for confirmation that Dean isn’t completely insane, and she giggles before nodding her head. “He’s not a batallion short of a soldier, soldier. He’s from 2012. We promised him we’d find a way home, he promised he’d help.”

“Huh, well, time travel. That’s a thing?”

It takes all of about ten seconds for the rest of the Howling Commandos to start asking fast and furious questions. Steve uses the distraction to sidle up to Bucky and rest his chin on his best friend’s shoulder. “Stop pouting. He’s no where near as cute as you. Okay?”

Bucky slides a hand backwards, slotting it between Steve’s chest and his back and scrapes his nails down rock hard abs. “And don’t forget it, Rogers.”

Over the rowdy ruckus being created by five men all clambering to ask questions about whether they win the war and what horse races they should start betting on, Peggy can be heard hollering loudly and bringing the ridiculous noise to a bearable level. “NO FUCKING UP THE TIME LINES!”

Everyone, including Steve and Dean, stare at Peggy like she’s lost her mind.

Peggy coughs and smooths out her pencil skirt before rolling her eyes and huffing. “What? Just because I don’t _like_ to swear doesn’t mean i **can’t** swear.”


	4. Four.

Sam's not a fan of loud pounding bass beats, he _should_ be used to them by now with Dean’s obsession for Hair Metal and Road Rock, but still his ears aren’t in favour of the blood that’s threatening to dribble across his shoulders.

However, standing at the edge of the dance floor and watching Jody sway and twist in time to that bass is more than making up for the headache rapidly forming behind his eyes.

Every time she dips and wriggles her hips something primal inside him sits up and begs, like a puppy that wants its belly scratched.

The only reason Sam isn’t out on the dance floor with her is he has two left feet - and those feet are bigger than everyone else’s on the planet. He’s slightly afraid he’ll crush someone’s toe, let alone looking like a lumbering oaf next to Jody’s elfin body as it moves so naturally to the music.

Nursing his drink, feeling guilty that he’s here ogling one of their best friends whilst Dean’s stuck somewhere in 1944, Sam swirls the whisky in it’s glass and wonders what his brother would say right now if he could see Sam standing on the sidelines.

_You’re an idiot. Look at her, she’s fuckin’ gorgeous. Get your lanky ass out there._

Chuckling at Dean’s voice inside his head, Sam nods, downs his drink and slams the glass on a nearby table.

He’s got one foot on the dance floor when some oily snot sidles up to Jody and starts miming her hourglass figure with his big puffy paws, running them an inch away from her body and wiggling his ass in time to her lithe moves.

Sam feels something go _ping_ in his chest and his higher functions; the part of his brain that understands territorial displays and testosterone poisoning, understands it’s a visceral instinctual reaction to having someone else muscle in on _his_ girl. Even though Jody’s not a girl, and she certainly isn’t his.

That doesn’t appear to dampen his urge to permanently separate the guy’s head from his neck, though. Chest puffed up like a damned peacock, Sam strides across the dance floor and looks down at the man now attempting to bump and grind against Jody’s backside.

Sam’s about to open his mouth and growl, actually _growl_ when Jody looks up at him and gently shakes her head _no_.

Using the natural rhythm in the song, Jody turns and pins the guy behind her with a look that says, come close. When he bends his head to whisper in her ear, she tilts her face and moves her lips. “Honey, you see this guy, big fella, huh? Well, he’s not exactly a fan of people touching what doesn’t belong to them. See where I’m going with this?”

Sam can’t hear what she’s saying but the dude’s face breaks out into a smarmy grin and he’s inches from lifting a fist and just cave-man thumping him on the top of his head.

“Baby, come on, who wants a giant mook like that when you can have all this?”

Jody’s not entirely sure whether her next move will cause a riot, but the idea that this mustachioed moron thinks _he’s_ the catch makes her stomach turn over.

Grease-boy reaches out and grips Jody’s hip a little too hard and Sam actually does growl. The sound reverberates inside Jody’s head and she knows if _she_ doesn’t deal with this soon, Sam’s going to do something they’ll both regret.

Reaching behind her, laying a calming palm on Sam’s arm, Jody uses her other hand to beckon the interloper forward. When he bends down a little further, she slams her forehead into his nose, causing him to stumble backwards, blood pouring over his lips and down his chin.

“Bitch!”

“Damn straight, now fuck off.”

The threat of violence is literally radiating from Sam’s pores and the guy’s torn between mouthing off and running for the hills.

He takes the latter option, because there’s no way he’s getting beat on by a woman _and_ having a giraffe of a man attack him all in one night.

As Mister Smooth beats a hasty retreat, Jody smirks, wiping  a smear of blood from her cheek before turning and pinning Sam with a serious look. “Seriously, Sammy? I don’t need a protector. Cop, remember?”

Sam sucks on his left canine and grins down at Jody before raising his hands in a silent question, which she nods her acquiescence to.

Resting long fingers on her waist, Sam tugs her in close and begins to move with the beat. “Habit, you’ll have to excuse the cave-man behaviour. This job - “

Jody enjoys the warmth of Sam’s chest as she presses her cheek to it, listening to his heartbeat through his shirt. “It’s not the job, Sam. You just have a little more Dean in you than even I realised. It’s kinda hot.”

“Should I be offended that it’s my _Dean-ness_ that gets you hot and bothered?”

“That’s not the only thing that gets me hot and bothered, Sammy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean’s so hammered he can barely lift his head off the table where it’s resting in a pool of spilled beer, and his eyes are so heavy he thinks sleeping in the mess tent might actually be a viable option.

After Peggy had introduced him to Steve and the rest of the unit, things had gone from fuzzy to down right blackout inducing and now he’s trying to muster the energy to head outside for a piss. Problem is, his legs aren’t working.

His speech functions are severely impaired too and it’s only Bucky clapping him on the back that stirs him enough to tilt his head sideways, landing his ear in the puddle of beer and making it sound like everyone’s underwater. “S’up Buck! HA Buck!”

Steve wanders up behind Bucky and chuckles at the sight of their newest recruit giggling and thinking up new and interesting ways to pronounce his boyfriend’s name. “Did you break him?”

“We broke him in, maybe. He _said_ he could handle his alcohol. Then Dum Dum added a triple whisky to his beer and boom - he was singing some song about moving in the night and chortling to himself. Yeah, okay, we broke him!”

Steve shakes his head and leans down to eye level with Dean. “Hey, fella, you okay? Need us to roll you outside?”

Bucky’s about to say something about leaving Dean where he’s landed when he hears a set of stilettos click clacking towards the table, and decides maybe he isn’t up to a round of pin the tail on the soldier so hot foots it away, leaving Steve to deal with his friend’s disapproving glares and pointed comments about all men being neanderthals. “Cheers, Buck. You’re a real hero!”

Bucky shoots a not so sorry look at Steve and tucks himself in between Gabe and Jim to wait  for the fireworks.

“What exactly are you doing, Captain Rogers? And why is my newest Agent trying to lick beer from the table top?”

Steve ducks his head and mouths _sit UP_ at Dean who’s quite clearly incapable of lipreading or lifting his head. Turning and staring at Peggy, shrugging innocently, Steve bites his bottom lip and tries not to laugh. “I don’t know what you mean, Peg, he seems perfectly fine to me.”

“I am, I’m fne, fiinn, ffshhnn. I’m cool, kinda need a pi - uhhh - that thing, you know, shhhh it’s rude to say it in front of ladies.”

Peggy looks at Dean under Steve’s arm and shakes her head. “That, Captain, is all yours. I draw the line at taking recruits to the bathroom.”

As Peggy spins on her heel and wafts away, Dean smacks his lips and is about to wolf whistle when Steve slaps a hand over his mouth. “NOT a good idea, Dean.”

~~~~~~~~

Dean’s head is pounding. There’s a rabid troll inside it with a jackhammer and a stereo blaring out Back in Black at full volume, and he thinks he might actually die.

Sticking his tongue out and concentrating as hard as he can with the hangover from hell threatening to make him violently sick, Dean grips the pen in his hand and almost rips a hole in the paper on his desk. “Fuck. Ouch! Who’s bastard idea was this?”

Peggy taps lightly on Dean’s open door and waits for him to turn red rimmed and bloodshot eyes her way before chuckling delicately and stepping into the room. “I do believe, agent Winchester, you may have challenged the entire of the Howling Commandos unit to a drinking competition. You realise you’re lucky you aren’t in the medic’s hut right now, don’t you?”

Dean winces and grips the side of his head. “Those boys can _drink_. And now I think I might be a teetotaller.”

“Until the _next_ time. Word of warning, don’t let Dugan carry your beer, he likes to spike it. Anyway, are you attempting to write to your brother?”

Dean growls and regrets it when the still active troll starts up a matching jackhammer rhythm. “I fu - I knew it! Cheatin’ dick.”

Peggy stifles a smile and pats Dean gently on the shoulder. “Do you need me to write that for you?”

Dean looks down at the paper and thinks, no, maybe not such a good idea getting the woman he’s got the hots for to tell his brother he’s got the hots for her. “Nah, I’ll be okay, just need a gallon of coffee and a hose down.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. Don’t forget Colonel Phillips wants you in his quarters at five. I’ll see that gets shipped to the post box you set up.”

Dean smiles his thanks and bends back over the paper. “Right, come on hands, work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam unlocks the door and drags three bags of groceries across the threshold before calling out to Jody. “Hey, Jodes, you up?”

As much as Sam would like to think he had any kind of chance with her after they’d gotten home from the club, he’s also extremely glad he didn’t follow up on the urges that kept him _awake_ half the damned night. With the situation with Dean so up in the air and his constant low-level freak outs happening, Sam doesn’t want to complicate the issue between him and one of their best friends. Not when she’s the only thing keeping him sane.

That logic goes flying straight out the fucking window when Jody comes tiptoeing in from the kitchen in nothing but a short tee and boxer shorts. _His_ boxer shorts. “Wh-wh-what are you doing?”

“Oh, hey Sammy, I was just getting some coffee. You want?”

Sam’s still staring at Jody’s thighs inside his boxers and wondering how long it would take to shred the flimsy piece of clothing, with his teeth.

Jody’s not dumb, she’s also not above playing dirty and she knows exactly what’s rattling through Sam’s mind as he burbles at her. Clicking her fingers in his face, she schools her features and puts on her most innocent smile. “Sammy, you okay?”

The entirety of Sam’s brain is completely devoid of blood, it’s all rushed south and he’s having serious issues forming words. “I - I - _ahem_ \- “

Mentally shaking himself, Sam grits his teeth and looks away from Jody’s inviting midriff. “I’m fine, just tired. There’s a letter.”

Jody instantly drops her playful thoughts in favour of finding out what Dean’s said, if he’s coming home any time soon. “AND?”

“Haven’t read it yet, thought we could - you know - together?”

“You sure?”

Sam smiles softly at her and sits down at the raggedy old table Jody managed to find at the local thrift store. “Sure. You’re worrying as much as me, I thought - “

Jody perches against the table, allowing Sam to get a tantalising flash of her butt curve. “Come on then, open it. Actually, no, wait. I’ve got a question.”

“Hmmm?”

“How come there’s only ever one letter? If he’s using that dropbox to send you notes, why aren’t they piled ten high?”

Sam tilts his head at her and contemplates her question. Finally he blurts out the only thing that makes any sense. “I honestly don’t know, I think, I mean, time’s running parallel? He was transported back through magic, maybe it’s done something to the timelines. Or maybe he only ever managed to send one letter.”

The thought of that upsets Jody’s stomach and makes her heart ache, the look on Sam’s face is soul destroying. “It’s okay Sammy, I’m sure there’s a better explanation - go on, open it.”

_Hey Bro._

_Hope you’re not going too fucking insane. I know I’d be climbing the walls. Look, the dropbox is gonna have to change locations. I’m on the move. I hooked up with a bunch of commandos and - let’s just say I think I might have met my match._

Sam lets out the loudest most ragged breath, and Jody wants nothing more than to wrap him in her arms. “See, he’s fine, he’s just not in the same place any more.”

“Yeah, thank fuck. I didn’t - I thought - Never mind what I thought.”

_Oh, you will NEVER guess who I met. Only Captain Fucking Abs of Steel Nazi Killing America!_

_He’s pretty cool, and so’s the chick who’s trying to help me get home. Her name’s Peggy, Peggy Carter. Gorgeous. Legs up to her - anyway, she needs me to help on a few ‘missions’ to retrieve something that will hopefully get me back to you._

_There are coordinates on the back of the letter to the next drop site. Don’t give up on me, Sammy. And wish me no big assed bombs. It’s hairy out here._

_Miss you man._

_Oh, dude, go look Jody up, she can help and maybe stop you tearing your oh-so-shiny hair out._

_Laters dude._

_Dean x_

Jody smiles at Sam as he turns watery yet highly amused eyes on her.

“Turns out Dean knows me better than I think he does.”

Jody reaches out and squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Seems so.”


	5. Five.

Jody casts her eyes across the living room of the makeshift home she’s created for her and Sam, and is saddened to think they’ll be leaving it soon. She’s intrigued as to when playing house with an overgrown puppy became a part of her life plan, but apparently it has, and the Sheriff isn’t exactly sure how she feels about it.

Okay so Sam is a wonderful guy, he’s sweet and kind, funny too once you get past the whole straight-man act, but this isn’t _her_ life. 

Jody’s got a town to look after and a home of her own to keep. It’s a lonely home, but it’s still hers and she doesn’t know if she’d be able to slot herself into Sam and Dean’s world.

Apart from anything else, she’s jumping the gun because she and Sam haven’t even - well nothing’s happened that would make her rethink her entire career choice, but there’s something…

Jody wonders how weird Bobby would find it, if he were here. Would he frown at her in that grizzly bear way of his and not mention it, or would he warn her off? Would he have been jealous? Probably, but Bobby’s not here, and the damn fool didn’t make a move even when he was so - fuck it, right?

Jody starts piling up books and research materials and wonders what Dean will think, if Sam ever decides he’s not too much of a chicken shit to make a play for her. She knows Dean’s had a big old crush for years, and as much as it’s flattering, it just seems wrong.

She’s never attempted to mother Sam the way she does Dean, and she only does that because Dean always seems so lost. So without a rudder that he flails from one problem to the next, even if he does manage to hide it well.

Sam never needed or wanted that, maybe because he never experienced it in the first place.

Is it wrong?

Would she be breaking some kind of code?

Shaking her head and continuing to stack crap in crates, Jody decides she’s been spending far too much time with Sam and is officially over thinking the whole situation.

Smiling to herself, she hears the tell tale sounds of a sleepy man stumbling down the stairs. “Morning, sunshine.”

Sam’s hair is all over the place and he’s still wiping sleep from his eyes but that doesn’t stop him taking a second to appreciate the image of Jody; bent over a crate and fiddling with it’s contents, with a pair of ridiculously short shorts moulded to her very fine ass. “Mornin’. How long you been up?”

The half asleep mumbles coming from Sam bring a grin to her lips and Jody thinks maybe she’s already made a decision, she just hasn’t said it out loud yet. “A while; thought I’d get a head start on all this packing. Speaking of, how did we manage to end up having to _pack_ after living in what’s basically a glorified squat?”

Sam huffs a laugh and trails passed Jody in search of much needed caffeine. “Woman’s touch?”

“Fuck off.”

Sam pours himself a cup of steaming hot black coffee and hugs the mug between his palms. “Sheriff Mills, you kiss your Mama with that mouth?”

This is the kind of moment where Jody can _see_ the correct thing to say, and she can **feel** the right thing to say, but she lets it sail on by and goes with her gut, and other parts. “No, but I’m sure there are other people who’d love me to kiss them with it, and not necessarily on the mouth.”

Sam’s mid-sip and nearly burns his chin as he splutters into his mug, which makes Jody almost crow with womanly satisfaction, but she’s not silly enough to push the issue when Sam is clearly still too worried about his brother. That and something else seems to be holding him back. The man either has the morals of a saint or he’s stocked up on willpower wheaties when she wasn’t looking. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Sam waits for Jody to turn back to her task before slumping against the counter and silently blowing out a huge breath. This is getting ridiculous. She’s clearly into him but he just can’t bring himself to - well, yes okay he likes her, a lot. What happens though, when they eventually manage to get Dean back and she either decides this life really isn’t for her and goes home, or the dynamic changes because three is generally a crowd?

It’s all too fucking complicated for Sam, and his head is full of nightmare scenarios where he finds Dean’s name etched onto the wall in the Hall of Heroes without an explanation as to how and why he died in the line of duty.

Trust Dean to sign on to some covert military operation! The man is beyond danger friendly, no matter what decade he’s living in. Meeting Captain America though, now that is awesome, not that Sam will ever tell Dean how jealous he is.

Sam shakes himself and downs the rest of his coffee, scalding the roof of his mouth and relishing the way the burn brings his brain back into sharp focus. “Right, we need to move out, quick. Dean’s coordinates might only be good for one drop and I want to know what’s happening.”

What he doesn’t say, but Jody hears all the same, is that he’s afraid there might not be a letter, something might have happened and they’ll never hear from Dean again.

The pain of that thought brings tears to her eyes and she has to cough to cover the sob threatening to out her to Sam, who’s slowly trudging back up the stairs towards the bathroom. “Right, yeah, shout me when you’re done.”

Part of her wants to ask if he wants company, but with her trying not to cry and him clearly not quite _there_ yet, Jody thinks that would be fucking a disaster.

“Sure thing, Jodes.” As Sam shouts back down to Jody, he’s half tempted to ask her if she wants to share the shower, but, now’s not the time. He’s not entirely sure when that time will be, but it’s not now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean stands erect and silent in front of Colonel Phillips, and thinks perhaps the old man might not be a half bad human being if he’d learn to loosen up once in awhile.

“Agent?”

Dean’s still not used to taking orders, despite his years of practice at the hands of John and his regimental regimes, but he’s learning to keep his mouth shut until told to open it. “Yes, sir?”

Chester Phillips does not like to be proven wrong, however, Peggy god-damned-fucking Carter is thus far extremely bloody good at doing it, and he’s slowly figuring out that she should be listened to at all times. He just doesn’t let her _know_ he’s worked that out. “Carter tells me she’s got a lead on the whos’it-thingy that would zap your sorry ass home, are you up to the mission?”

He’ll give the kid his due; no matter how many insults get thrown at him, Dean simply bows his head and nods. He’s getting there. Maybe if he weren’t from a far flung year, Winchester would be a good permanent member of the unit.

“Yes, sir. Can I ask - “

Phillips raises an eyebrow but nods without saying anything. 

“Where is this mission, sir? It’s just, I have to keep my brother updated and…”

Phillips isn’t above feeling pity, and the look of fear on Dean’s face at the mention of a brother stranded seventy years in the future, does tug somewhat brutally at his few remaining heartstrings.

Face softening ever so slightly, Phillips motions towards the door and smiles - if you can call the thin lip twitch a smile. “Go find her, she’ll explain everything and you can do a letter drop before leaving, okay?”

Dean ducks his head and salutes before spinning on his heel and practically running through the Colonel’s door.

Perhaps a touch more training wouldn’t go amiss.

~~~~~~~~~

Peggy’s almost taken off her finely polished regulation boot covered feet as Dean comes barreling into the mess tent, and slides straight into her.

The only reason she isn’t sporting muddy footprint smears on her uniform is Dean automatically throws his arms around her waist and she clings to his shoulders. 

They stay like that for a moment, staring at each other and smirking, until the sound of catcalls and wolf-whistles reaches an ear splitting volume.

Peggy clears her throat and makes a show of releasing Dean. “In a hurry, Agent?”

Dean snorts and smooths out his uniform, still too tight and itchy for his liking, but better than the three piece suit he’d arrived at her door wearing, and grins at Peggy. “The old man said you were allowed to let me in on the details of the mission, so I could make my next drop for Sam.”

Peggy crooks a finger at Dean and spins on the spot, leading him back out of the tent. “Don’t let _him_ hear you calling him that. He’s had, at last count, four forty-fifth birthdays. He likes to pretend he’s immortal, or not aging disgracefully.”

Dean thinks maybe Chester Phillips is his kind of guy after all. “You’re only mortal on your last day, Agent Carter.”

Peggy thinks of the many men they’ve lost during their fight against Nazi Germany and the Red Skull and wishes she could believe that, but if it brings Dean some comfort, and Chester Phillips, then who is she to shatter that particular illusion?

Opening the door to the operations hut, Peggy lets out a whistle worthy of a pro-baller, causing Dean to throw his hands over his ears and grimace. “So lady-like!”

“You spend this much time with military men, attitudes and habits rub off.” All of the Howling Commandos are lounging around the room, looking for all the world like they aren’t slap bang in the middle of a war with a magically enhanced demi-god, but the second Peggy whistles they stand to complete attention.

All but Steve and Bucky, who are still huffing quiet laughter and exchanging entirely un-soldierly looks.

“ROGERS! BARNES!”

Steve’s less afraid of Peggy than the rest of the men, but even he quails under her heated glare. “Come on Buck, before her highness decides to have us flogged.”

Bucky has a healthy respect for Peggy Carter.

Not least because she clearly at one point had feelings for Steve, until she’d begun seeing him and the Captain together. After that she’d kept a polite distance from them as a pair, only occasionally throwing pointed looks and comments in their direction, and always offering Steve that much needed shoulder.

Plus, she’s badass and can handle herself better than some of the guys he’s served with. “She wouldn't dare, she’d chip a nail.”

Peggy knows Steve and Bucky are fully aware they can be heard and she clicks her fingers in their general direction before bending her head low over a map laid out on the table in the centre of the room. “For you two, I’d be willing to chip them all. Fall in.”

Dean’s not blind and he’s definitely not dumb.

There’s something happening between Steve and Bucky, but there’s also an underlying frisson of amusement papering over the sadness radiating from Peggy, and it’s like lightning has hit him dead center of the forehead when he suddenly realises that at some point in the not too distant past, she must have had feelings for the Captain.

Dean’s admiration of Peggy Carter notches up even further when he realises how hard that must have been for her, probably still is, but she continued to lead and to lend an ear, and has probably at some point spoken to Steve about the whole situation.

Fine fucking woman.

Peggy spins the map on the table and grins at Bucky as he steps in next to her. “See here, we need to get Dean to this spot so he can leave a communication for his brother, then we’re headed here.”

Steve leans over Bucky’s shoulder, eyes the tiny pinned dot on the map and asks the same thing everyone else is thinking. “And what exactly is _there_?”

“Ah, yes, well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean’s choosing not to get involved in the full on verbal battle that’s raging between Peggy and her men. 

This isn’t his fight, she can hold her own, and quite frankly he needs to finish this damned letter before they move out. 

Despite the fact he doesn’t want to get his head shot off and he’s actively avoiding poking his nose in, his mouth opens and out comes something that stills every voice in the room. “Oh come on fellas. What’s a little Hydra sympathiser action compared to you lot? Lay off, would you!”

Dernier rounds on Dean, eyes blazing, fists balled. “This is YOUR fault, Winchester. We wouldn’t be here traipsing the back and beyond of Yankville, schlepping through merde et sang if you weren’t trying to get home.”

Dean’s impressed by Jaques’ bulging forehead veins and fury, but he’s not afraid of him, despite the fact they’re nose to nose and Frenchman is spitting in Dean’s face. 

Standing his ground, refusing to recoil, Dean rolls his eyes, knowing it will irritate the soldier no end. “First of all, Jaques, if you’re gonna scream at me in English, maybe learn to swear like that too. It’s shit and blood!”

The American’s knowledge of French makes Dernier falter for a second.

“Second, I do believe Miss Carter was aiming to take you lot over that way anyway, me needing the help has NOTHING to do with it. Am I right?”

Peggy inserts herself between Dean and Jaques, and lays a gentle but firm hand on the Frenchman’s chest. “He’s right, soldier. We were always headed into that territory.”

Steve clicks his fingers at Peggy, infuriating her.

“YES?!”

Steve doesn’t back down, doesn’t duck his head or lower his eyes. “For the love of - why would you send us in there? The chances of us all making it out alive are remote as hell and we can’t afford to lose a single man at the moment.”

It’s not Dum Dum or Gabe that step in, but Bucky who tugs on Steve’s elbow, forcing him to break eye contact with Peggy, who’s practically growling at her friend. “Rogers. Steve! If Peggy says we should try, we should try. You know that. How many times has she saved our asses? She’s not about to send us into enemy territory without a good reason.”

Peggy nods her thanks at Bucky and Dean melts away from the conversation. They’re all big enough and ugly enough to work their own crap out, he just needs to get this fucking letter written or Sammy’s going to be tearing his oh-so-shiny hair out back in 2012.


	6. Six.

_Sammy, I’m hoping you found this okay, I’m also hoping you managed to drag poor old Jody into this craptastic fuck up._

_We’re heading out in the morning, but Carter’s got me special leave to keep sending these._

_Okay, don’t panic. What am I saying? You ALWAYS panic._

_We’re headed into enemy territory._

_There’s a group of Red Skull acolytes in the mid-west and they’re holding something for him. Something that could bring me home._

_The next lot of coordinates are on the back of the letter, keep your fingers crossed I make it._

_Remember, we ain’t done until we’re done, okay?_

_Dean x_

Sam’s struggling not to throw up at the thought of Dean trying to infiltrate enemy territory with a bunch of crazy soldiers, and Jody can sense the barely contained panic in her friend.

Deciding humour might be the best way to defuse a complete melt down, she snatches the letter from Sam’s hand and puts on a seriously pissed off face. “Old, OLD! I’ll give him old. Cheeky fucker!”

Sam knows what Jody’s trying to do, but it still drags a wan smile from him and he shakes his head, attempting to remove the image of Dean all kitted out and sneaking behind enemy lines. “Has he ever done anything easily? The man’s a menace.”

His voice cracks on the last word and Jody finds herself reaching out.

Dropping the letter on the floor, Jody grips Sam’s face and drags his head down to her eye level. “Sammy, he’s a fighter. He’s never let anything as simple as possible death and destruction stop him. He isn’t going to start now, okay?”

The warmth of Jody’s hands, coupled with the sweetness of her breath ghosting across Sam’s damp eyelashes, creates a chemical mixture in the pit of his stomach.

He’s not thinking, he’s not analyzing, he’s just doing - doing what he needs.

There’s no hesitation when Sam wraps his long arms around Jody’s waist, dragging her up against his body.

As their lips crash together, Jody’s entire nervous system responds.

Sam’s tongue is warm, firm and insistent, and she opens up to him without thinking. Curling herself around him; legs hooked at the ankles and resting against his ass, arms clasped together tightly, fingernails digging into his shoulders through the thin layer of cotton he’s wearing.

The primal need to _feel_ hits them both and there’s no coordination or calm in their movements.

Sam slams Jody into the wall and continues to ravage her mouth, lapping at her lips and grinding his hips, relishing the mewling sounds being breathed into his mouth as he swallows her every moan and groan.

In the back of Jody’s mind she thinks maybe they should stop, slow down, talk this out, but front and centre is the burning fire Sam’s creating between her legs, which is travelling in undulating waves all along her spine, threatening to force her to beg him to take her.

She’s never begged in her life. Not once.

She might be about to break that streak.

Pulling back, enjoying the smacking sound of Sam’s lips as they follow her, seeking out the warm wetness she’s offering, Jody heaves a breath and tries to be logical. “Sammy, we should, maybe we should - “

Sam’s usually the one in any situation who over thinks it, but this time he _wants_ and he’s not going to logic himself out of finally taking **what** he wants.

Right now he wants Jody more than he’s ever wanted anyone. “No. Jody, no. Stop. If you don’t want this, I’ll let you go, but if you do…”

Tilting her head, using his superior height and strength to rub herself against the bulge in his trousers, Jody nods and smirks. “I want it. I want _you_.”

~~~~~~~~~

Heavy artillery blasts sound only feet from where Dean’s crouching behind a rock and praying that he doesn’t get himself blown to pieces in the wrong fucking decade. “ROGERS! Where’s Barnes?!”

Steve scans the bomb blasted landscape, frantically searching for his partner. “No clue. Dean, I can’t **see** him!”

Dean’s learned fast that the only thing which unseats Captain fucking America is the idea of losing Sergeant Barnes, and right now they need his head in the game. “I got it, I’ll find him, just, left flank, you gotta take out their left flank!”

Steve knows Dean’s right, but not being able to locate Bucky is creating a melee of worry warring with his automatic need to do his duty. He’ll just have to trust Bucky’s fate to Dean and hope that the time traveller makes good on his word. “Fine, GO!”

Steve takes off at a run, using his shield to deflect rapid gunfire, and Dean begins peering into the darkness, hoping for some clue as to where Bucky’s gone. “Barnes. BARNES! Where the fuck are you?!”

Dean hears a pained groan coming from somewhere off in the distance. The only time he can _see_ anything is when another mortar shell hits and it lights up the night sky like the fourth of July. In one of those moments of terror and possible death by Nazi bomb, Dean catches a glimpse of a familiar boot, attached to a twitching leg tucked behind another boulder twenty feet away.

Without thinking Dean makes a break for it, hoping to get to Bucky before the next wave hits.

As he slams into the ground next to Sergeant Barnes, Dean’s heart sinks.

There’s blood. There’s more blood than he’s ever seen in one place coming from one person, and Bucky’s lungs are making a wet sucking sound every time he tries to breathe or speak.

“W-W-Winchester - I - they - crap th-thi-this hurts.”

Dean rips his uniform jacket off and presses it hard against Bucky’s chest, where a steady stream of precious crimson liquid is still flowing. “Shut up. SHUT UP. Don’t talk, just breathe. Fuck. Barnes, breathe! Don’t you dare give up. Steve will KILL ME!”

Bucky chuckles and spits blood bubbles at Dean. “Steve’s g-g-gonna be pissed. Seriously, FUCK!”

Dean uses his knee to lift Bucky’s head from the grubby ground and stares him straight in the eye. “Don’t do it, man. Don’t you check out on me. We’ll get you patched up, I promise, just fucking BREATHE!”

Dean’s so busy trying to get Bucky to focus, to keep his eyes open, he doesn’t hear the footsteps sneaking up on his right. It’s only as the click of a firing pin sounds in his ears that Dean realises he’s made a probably fatal mistake and throws himself across Bucky’s twitching body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peggy shouldn’t even be in the field, but when Steve’s comm went dead and Dean’s hollered blood curdling instructions to Bucky could be heard coming over the waves, nothing short of a court martial would have stopped her throwing herself into the fight.

Running at full speed, kicking up mud and spent bullet casings, Peggy reaches Dean at the same time as Steve decimates the enemy’s defences and she finds herself scrabbling for her gun.

Dean’s already down, using his body as a protective layer between the man trying to empty a clip in his back and Bucky, who’s still as death. “NOT ON MY WATCH!”

Peggy fires off shot after shot after shot. Wincing at the recoil and the ache in her wrist as she screams bloody murder and refuses to let up until the soldier threatening her men is a bloodied quivering lump lying at her feet.

Peggy kicks the man in the back and when no sound is forthcoming, she throws herself into the dirt and muck next to Dean who’s still curled around Bucky. “Winchester, Barnes!”

Just as Peggy starts trying to pry Dean’s arms from Bucky’s still figure, Steve and Dugan run over, weapons uncocked and shouldered. “What the fuck happened?!”

Peggy shakes her head and continues trying to lift Dean away from Bucky. “No clue. Bucky must have taken fire. Dean tried to protect him. Dean, DEAN let go. We can’t help either of you if you don’t LET GO!”

Steve doesn’t hesitate in shoving Peggy out the way. He’ll apologise later. She lands ass first in the wet, sticky, blood-saturated mud and Steve wrenches Dean away from Bucky, who is still just about breathing. It’s a disgusting sound, hollow and rattly, but it’s something. “Dugan, get Winchester. I’ve got Barnes.”

 

 


	7. Seven.

Between Howard trying to still Dean’s thrashing and shouting, and Steve laying one solid open palm on Bucky’s stomach as the doctors work on both of them, the noise is almost unbearable. Let alone the smell.

Cauterized flesh has an acrid scent that Peggy will never get used to, and as long as she’s a part of this fight she’ll always want to throw up the second that odour hits the air. “How are they?”

“This one will be okay, we think. That one, we’re not so sure.”

Both Steve and Peggy bristle, but it’s neither of them or Howard, who looks ashen and angry, that pulls the doctor up short, it’s Dugan. He screams at the doctor who’s been stupid enough to trivialise his team mates’ pain. “THEY HAVE NAMES! This one is James Buchanan Barnes. That one is Dean Winchester. And they just took fire saving YOUR ASS so I’d appreciate you using their given names!”

Steve uses his free hand to tug on Dum Dum’s arm. “They’re just doing their job, Dugan.”

Dugan storms away from the two gurneys saturated in too much spilled blood.

Steve looks down at Bucky, who’s covered in a criss cross pattern of cuts and bruises and stitches from the inept attempts to sew up his chest cavity, and he feels so bloody guilty. Dean basically got his butt handed to him whilst trying to save the man Steve loves, and no matter how long either of them live, the Captain will never be able to repay that debt.

Colonel Phillips is standing off to the side, tucked into the shadows. He knows that Peggy’s under enough strain without her supposed superior officer glaring at proceedings over her shoulder. As Peggy tries to pry information from the doctors working on Dean and Bucky, Phillips thinks that war might not be a place for women, but this woman has proved herself capable of dealing with it time and again. “Carter?”

Peggy turns her haggard face towards him and raises an eyebrow. “Yes, sir?”

“A word.”

Loathe to leave when Dean’s fate is so up in the air, but knowing he wouldn’t call her away for nothing, Peggy shoots Steve a look that says, “Look after my boys!”, and wanders towards the back of the Medic Hut. “What is it sir?”

Phillips does something uncharacteristically kind after clicking his fingers in Peggy’s face. “I think, after this little episode, we can drop the formalities, don’t you? It’s Chester. Now, did your other unit members secure the package?”

Peggy’s almost forgotten the reason for this balls up of a mission, but Colonel Phillips brings her mind back to the strange glowing tube sitting in the knapsack of her motorbike. “Yes, yes they did.”

“Then perhaps it would be wise to try and send Winchester home. Clearly they’ll have better medical supplies and abilities seventy years from now - “

“But Sam, Dean’s brother, he doesn’t know, he won’t know Dean’s coming back, or how he’s coming back. Let alone on the brink of - of - “

Peggy can’t bring herself to say it but Colonel Phillips can feel the agony rolling off of her. “Peggy, look at me. He needs proper help. The bullet’s lodged in his lung. We can’t dig that out without destroying him. If we can send word, perhaps? So that this Sam is ready and waiting…”

“How will we know he got word?!?”

“We won’t, but if he stays here, he’ll _definitely_ die.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam and Jody are holed up in a back end of nowhere dive on the side of a road that doesn’t even have up to date signs on it, let alone any intimation of intelligent life living along the stretch of it. “How long have we been here now, Sam?”

Sam raises weary eyes to Jody who’s lounging in her underwear and a strappy tee atop a bed that’s got questionable sheets and an even more questionable history. “Three days, but, I can’t - we can’t - “

“Hey, no I wasn’t saying we should leave, I just wanted a time update is all. I know you checked this morning, but maybe you should go back.”

Sam’s so tired he can barely stand but he knows Jody’s right. He’s going to have to check the drop site again, it’s that or go completely insane and drag her down with him. “Okay, fine, I’ll be back soon.”

Jody doesn’t push, just waits, and sure enough Sam steps across the room and drops a gentle kiss on her forehead before snatching the keys to the Impala off the table.

“I would say don’t wait up, but - “

“I’ll be here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Sam, Peggy Carter here. I know Dean’s told you about me. I am so sorry to have to do this to you, but - Dean’s ill. Well no, he’s injured. He got shot trying to save - I’m sorry I’m not very good at this._

_He’s alive. For now._

_We can’t stay here and we can’t send him back until we’ve reached a safe place. Right now we’re in danger of being blown to smithereens by the Red Skull’s forces and Dean won’t last much longer. We have to send him home. There’s a bullet, you see, in his lung and - SHIT!_

_I’m SO sorry._

_Right - if we can move him a short distance from where he and you are but separated by decades, we can send him home and you can get him to medical help that will actually help. Right now my doctors are just making a hack job of it. We haven’t got the resources._

_He needs 2012 and you, not 1944 and me._

Sam’s hands shake uncontrollably as he reads the fragile blood soaked paper. Whose blood he dreads to think, but something tells him it’s probably Dean’s - and whoever his brother tried to save. It must have wiped off of Peggy’s hand as she pressed pen to paper.

As he continues to read, he feels like he may faint but there’s no chance for a rest. He’s not the best at dealing with alternating timelines, because hello, crazy! But he’s pretty fucking sure if he doesn’t move now he’ll miss the chance to save Dean.

_We’re right where you are, only seventy years earlier._

_We’re going to move thirty miles up the road, East Wold farm on the Oakland Road, and then we’ll send him through. I can’t guarantee he’ll make the journey, either journey, I can’t guarantee _anything_ , and believe me when I say I could not be more sorry._

_Sam Winchester, I know we will probably never meet, but I wanted you to know that your brother is a hero, and we will all remember him._

_Four hours from now we’ll be in the new spot. Be ready._

_Peggy Carter.  
20:34, December 18th, 1944_

Sam throws himself into the Impala and shoves her into gear.

He has to get back to Jody and they **have** to make that drop site, no matter what.

~~~~~~~~~

The only thing Peggy can hear is Dean’s burbling blood soaked requests for his brother.

“S-Sammy, I n-need Sammy, S-S-Sammy!”

And it’s nothing short of torture.

There’s something between them, between her and Dean, but he doesn’t belong here. Why does she keep falling for men that belong with someone else or somewhere else?

The life of a woman in the war effort.

It’s not fair, but it’s inescapable.


	8. Eight.

Every bump in the road drags a wet strangled moan from Dean, who’s laying on a rusty gurney, strapped in by tight hospital corners and Dugan’s signature knots.

The entire unit insisted on riding in the makeshift ambulance, which is tipping the vehicle overweight, but Steve dared Peggy or the driver to argue as he’d piled in behind his men, carrying Bucky who’d finally opened his eyes ten minutes prior to moving out. He resolutely refused not to accompany the man who’d taken several bullets for him, and was willing to try and get up off his own almost death bed to argue the point.

_”We’re going with you.”_

_“But, Steve - the truck’s not up to - “_

_“ **We’re going with you** , okay? Dean just risked his life trying to save Bucky, and there’s no WAY I’m letting him out of my sight until I know he’s safe. Or safer than he is here. Court martial me, I’ll serve the time when we get back.”_

_“Steve, be reasonable.”_

_“Miss Carter?”_

_“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”_

_“That man is dying, and he’s dying because he wanted to keep ME alive. You will have to cut our fucking legs off to stop us making sure he gets to the drop point, even if Rogers has to carry me the whole damned way and we all face a firing squad the other end. Understand?”_

The entirety of the Howling Commandos had made their thoughts on this very vocal, and there was no way on this Earth Peggy would have persuaded them not to ride along.

To be honest she’s glad of the company and the extra security the unit adds to the trip but she can’t take her eyes off of Dean’s mottled purple chest showing above the tightly wrapped bandages.

The bullets entered through his back and every one has been removed, except the one that’s stopping him from healing properly, and the fact that the bruising has reached the front of his torso spells serious trouble if they can’t get him home, soon.

Bucky’s slumped in Steve’s lap, resting his head on the Captain’s shoulder and snoring loudly, but it’s Peggy’s weary face that’s captured Steve’s attention. “Peg?”

Peggy raises her eyes to Steve and smiles tiredly. “Yes, Captain?”

“You okay?”

“No, not at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

Peggy can see the hand cupping Bucky's head, making sure he doesn’t slip from Steve’s shoulder. She can see the love in his touch. She can **feel** the love in his touch, and she has no idea why he would be apologising right now. “Sorry for what?”

“For - this. I know he means something to you, and after I - after we - “

Peggy’s thankful for Steve’s gentleness and his chivalry, but it’s clear how much he and Bucky mean to each other. There is nothing to say sorry for. “The heart wants what it wants, Rogers. Unfortunately mine seems to be drawn to unattainable men.”

“Least you know you have excellent taste!”

The humour and sarcasm in that statement lifts Peggy’s spirits some as she counts the miles being eaten up beneath the tires she can feel continuously rolling on.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jody’s dozing fitfully when Sam comes screaming into their motel room, practically frothing at the mouth and tumbling over every other word.

“De-Dean - he’s - they’re - we have to - blood and bullets and - “

Bolting out of bed, Jody grips Sam’s shoulders and shakes him as hard as she can. He’s not making any sense but the fear in his eyes is genuine and terrifying. “SAM! Calm down. What is it?”

Sam can’t seem to form proper sentences. They start out intact in his head, but by the time they hit his lips they’re garbled and incoherent. He can’t stop himself from shaking. He spent the entire drive back to the motel in a state of shock and he has no idea how he made it without totalling Dean’s Baby or himself.

Swallowing reflexively, Sam shoves the crumpled bloodied letter in Jody’s face and drops into a chair before throwing his head in his hands and sobbing loudly.

Jody grips the paper, smeared with seventy year old dust, blood and what she assumes are fresh tear stains from Sam, and tries not to let the sinking feeling in her stomach take control. “What’s this?”

She knows what it is but she doesn’t dare read it, not when Sam’s clearly only just hanging on by a thread and losing her calm will only make matters worse.

Sam raises tear streaked cheeks to Jody. “He’s dying. In 1944, he’s dying. They - they - read it, please.”

Jody scans the letter and has to lean heavily against Sam’s knees to stop herself crumpling. “Shit. SHIT!”

Sam opens his legs and drags Jody against his chest, resting his forehead on her shoulder and wrapping his arms tight around her waist. “We have to move, **now**. It took me an hour to get there, forty minutes to get back, and I was there fifteen. That leaves us just over two hours hours to find this place and set up a way to get Dean straight to hospital, and it’s at least an hour and a half’s drive!”

Jody spins in Sam’s arms, drops a kiss into his hair then springs into action. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, she snatches her phone from the bed and starts frantically dialling whilst Sam grabs random items and chucks them into an open duffel.

As Sam holds the door to the motel room open, Jody hops on one foot trying to get her shoe on at the same time as she shouts instructions down the now open phone line. “Sheriff Jody Mills, Sioux Falls Jurisdiction. We’ve got an incoming GSW. We need an ambulance at East Wold farm on the Oakland Road as soon as possible. No one is to enter any of the farm buildings until I get there, understand?”

Sam hears someone shouting something back into Jody’s ear and her face flames. “I don’t CARE if this isn’t my area, do it, or I’ll come down there and shove my gun so far up - thank you. Was that so hard? ASAP, you hear me?”

Sam’s never been so grateful to anyone in his entire life. Jody punches the disconnect button and runs through the door, snatching his elbow on the way by. “Come on, long and tall, we’ve got a brother to save.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The makeshift medic vehicle isn’t going anywhere near quick enough and Peggy’s about to start screeching at the driver when Jaques leans over her shoulder and smacks the poor man around the back of the head. “Move **faster**. He’s bleeding out, DRIVE!”

Steve’s still cradling Bucky, who’s in and out of consciousness. but has his hand wrapped tightly around Dean’s limp clammy fingers, and Dum Dum’s sitting on the other side of the gurney, trying to steady it as the truck takes every corner on two wheels.

Jim’s perched like a pixie at the foot of the gurney, helping to stabilise it whilst trying to avoid being smashed in the face. He turns worried eyes to Steve who’s alternating between stroking the back of Bucky’s head and staring intently at Dean’s ghostly white face. “Are we gonna make it; is he?”

Steve refuses to relinquish his hold on Bucky, or his line of sight to Dean, but he shakes his head and whispers. “I don’t know. When he was fighting us, shouting about Sam, I thought maybe - but - I know he’s been sedated because of the pain, but he’s - he’s - “

Peggy’s head is pounding. She’s been actively not crying for the entire trip, and it’s taking it’s toll on her usually calm attitude in extreme situations, and Steve’s hesitation forces such a violent reaction from her that every member of the unit stares at her like she’s lost her mind.

“HE’LL FUCKING MAKE IT!”

Falsworth and Gabe are crammed in the front passenger seat of the truck, practically sitting in each other’s laps, and they both shoot a warning glare at the driver who’s opening his mouth to say something.

Seeing their stern looks and violent head shaking, the driver slams his lips shut again and concentrates on not tipping the vehicle over as he rounds yet another bend in the road.

Gabe reaches backwards, hooks an arm over the seat, and squeezes Peggy’s shoulder. “Carter, hey, look at me!”

Peggy turns wide watery eyes on her teammate and almost loses it when his face softens and he offers her a small smile.

“We’ll get him there, it’s all we can do, but we’ll do it, okay? Don’t give up hope yet. He saved Barnes, there’s no way we’re not doing everything in our power to get him home.”


	9. Nine.

The ambulance has beaten Sam and Jody to the drop site and the Impala slides past it on three wheels, kicking up dust and rocks, almost shattering the larger vehicles’ windshield.

The paramedic and driver have obeyed Jody’s instructions and gone nowhere near the seemingly abandoned farm buildings, but the two police officers sitting in their cruiser are itching to get out and start shouting the odds at the out of jurisdiction sheriff, who’s basically commandeered a unit for the entire night.

Sam’s the first out of the Impala, leaving the motor ticking over and the door wide open. Running at full speed, almost tripping over his own feet, Sam streaks across the ground separating him and the closest building.

Jody reaches over from the passenger seat and turns the keys, silencing the engine, before leaning even further over and slamming the driver’s door.

As she turns to step from the car, one of the officers rounds the trunk and starts waving his hands in the air. “Sheriff Mills I presume? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Shouting instructions at MY officers and MY emergency service workers. This isn’t YOUR jurisd - “

Under normal circumstances Jody would keep her cool and calmly inform the douchebag he’s messing with the wrong police officer, but tonight is not normal and there’s no way she’s letting him shout her down. He’s a head taller than her, but Jody pins him with a stare so full of heat and anger that he stumbles and stutters. “Listen to **me** , officer?”

“J-J-Jayne, T-T-Thomas Jayne.”

“Right, officer _Jayne_. We’ve got a highly classified situation going down here and we **need** you to step BACK, alright? When we need you, we’ll call, but until then these buildings are off limits. So sit your ass down and stop SHOUTING at me, unless you’d like me to stick your rifle where the sun don’t shine!”

Officer Jayne’s partner, who’s wisely chosen to stay in the cruiser, clicks his fingers out the window and whistles. “Tom, buddy, let’s just chill for a minute, shall we? Nice to meet you Sheriff Mills!”

Jody tips a nod at the other officer and takes off running in the same direction as Sam.

“Dude, she’s a pistol. I wouldn’t mind pulling her firing pin.”

“Something tells me it’d be your funeral.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Peggy watches, heart in her throat, as Steve slides Bucky off his lap and onto the seat.

“Stay!”

“But - “

“I’ll come get you in a second, stay!”

Hopping out of the truck, Steve takes the majority of the gurney’s weight as Gabe guides it out of the vehicle.

The juddery movement makes Dean stir and he’s vaguely aware that he feels like someone shot him point blank in the back, which is when he remembers they fucking **did** shoot him point blank in the back, and he tries to open his mouth to ask just how close to death he really is.

He can’t speak, not properly. Whatever they gave him to dull the pain has done a number on his motor functions and his tongue won’t work. All he can manage is a groan and a pathetic hand wave, which brings Peggy right to his side.

“Dean? **Dean**? We’re here, we’re all here. You’re going home!”

“H-H-How b-b-b-bad?” Dean gestures to the bandages wrapped excruciatingly tight around his upper chest and back and he sees the truth in Peggy’s eyes long before she opens her mouth.

“We couldn’t - there’s a bullet lodged in there. The doctors tried but they couldn’t extract it. We’re sending you home, to Sam.”

The panic in Dean’s eyes is palpable and it punches Peggy in the gut. “No, no, we got word to him, I got word. He knows.”

Peggy leaves out the fact that she doesn’t actually know if Sam **knows** because the uncertainty is almost killing her, it might _really_ kill Dean and that’s not something she’s willing to risk.

Steve clears his throat, Gabe and Jaques take the other end of the gurney and together they lift it into the air, making sure the wheels don’t touch the ground and cause more pain to Dean, who’s eyes are rolling in his head and he looks like he might vomit. “Hang in there Winchester, we’ll get you home, promise.”

Dean’s not so far gone that he doesn’t realise how messed up this whole thing is. Captain Freaking America is giving him comfort after he got shot trying to save the dude’s boyfriend.

Fucked up.

The boys manage to get Dean situated inside the furthest farm building from the road and Steve spins on his heel to go and retrieve Bucky, who can be heard shouting all the way from the truck. “Get your ass back over here, don’t you leave me in this clapped out old death trap! ROGERS!”

As Steve jogs passed Falsworth, the commando smirks and shakes his head. “Subtle, ain’t he?”

Steve snorts and carries on past his teammate but throws a comment over his shoulder. “Least Jerry’ll know where to aim!”

Bucky’s not too weak to give his partner a smack round the head when he winds his arms beneath his legs and around his back and lifts him down from the truck. “I fuckin’ heard that.”

“So did they!”

Steve runs back towards the barn with Bucky clinging to his chest, and hopes they’ll manage to get Dean home in time to stop him bleeding out. Most people would think Winchester being conscious is a good thing, but the more awake he is the more pressure he’s putting on his heart and the rest of his system, and it’s only a matter of time before his body gives out completely.

Peggy’s in the process of fumbling with some ridiculous tube thing which is glowing a sickly green shade and giving off a strange humming sound. It’s so high pitched it’s making everyone’s teeth ache. “Steve, here!”

Steve drags an upturned crate next to Dean’s gurney and despotis Bucky on it, who instantly grips the man’s fingers.

Turning from his boyfriend and his friend, both looking like the living dead, Steve peers down at the thing in Peggy’s hands. “What’s it meant to do?”

“It didn’t exactly come with an instruction pamphlet, Rogers. From what I can gather you’re meant to spin the dials and put the numbers to the right date and time, and bam, time travel. Or human soup; I’m hoping for the former though.”

Considering Peggy’s not only dealing with unknown Nazi technology, and the thought that someone she’s come to care for very much is about to leave her and possibly die in the process, she’s holding up better than Steve expected.

It’s only when she turns to face the Captain that he realises she’s not holding up at _all_. “Oh, Peg!”, He reaches out and grips her shoulders tight, drags her in for a hard hug, and feels his own heart breaking when her tears soak through his uniform. “I’m so sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam crashes through the door to the first building and finds it empty, nothing but old farm machinery and rusted out tools.

They’re minutes away from the cross over and he hasn’t a clue where it’ll happen but all he can do is keep searching for a sign, anything that indicates a supernatural presence.

Rushing from one building to the next, Sam scans each and comes up snake eyes, and he’s inches from losing his shit, when Jody turns the corner and runs straight into him.

“JESUS!”

“I can’t find anything, there’s nothing. WHERE ARE THEY?!”


	10. Ten.

Sam’s hair practically stands on end as he runs full pelt into the furthest building from the road. It’s like walking into a wall of electrical energy with no apparent source, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt this is the place.

Jody comes careening into the building and almost runs face first into Sam’s back. “Ouch, fuck. Winchester, you’re solid!”

Any other time he’d have channelled Dean and made some crack about her already knowing that, but right now he’s frantically searching the space for any sign of movement and he barely acknowledges Jody as she rubs her sore nose and comes to stand next to him.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yeah, it’s like someone’s running a balloon across my skin. This **has** to be the place but I don’t see anything; what about you?”

Jody grips Sam’s fingers and squeezes, then peers into the darkness. “THERE!”, A faint green glow is emanating from the far corner of the barn, it’s opaque and sickly looking but it’s real.

Sam and Jody move as one, walking slowly towards the green light which is increasing in size and intensity.

Sam almost crushes Jody’s hand as he prays out loud. “Come on Dean, come back to me. I promise I’ll never give you crap about disgusting junk food in the fridge ever again, just come _home_.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Peggy’s quaking on the spot and moaning, trying not to drop the tube and shaking her head violently at her team, who keep shooting desperate worried looks at their leader. “No, don’t touch me! Get him ready!”

Gabe and Steve turn the gurney towards the portal that’s rapidly expanding in front of their disbelieving eyes.

Bucky reluctantly lets go of Dean’s hand as the Hunter shoots him a grateful smile before trying to inhale a deep breath and coughing up thick oozing blood bubbles.

Peggy watches the sticky red liquid dribble down Dean’s chin and knows she hasn’t got time for goodbye, she can’t whisper to him how she’ll never forget him or that she could easily have fallen - she just has to hold the line whilst they push him into the portal.

The portal is now as tall and wide as a door, and all of the Howling Commandos can **see** two people standing on the other side.

“DEAN!”

The man with long hair and a desperate look on his face lets go of the woman’s hand and steps forward.

Peggy screams as loudly as she can. “DON’T! DON’T COME THROUGH! I don’t know how long I can - “

Steve and Gabe start pushing the gurney towards the quivering oblong of green light, and Bucky shouts after Dean. “Kick it in the ass, Winchester!”

As Dean’s feet hit the portal, his entire body jerks on the gurney, legs and arms flailing uncontrollably, and he howls.

Sam tries to lean forward and reach out to Dean, but Jody lunges and drags him back by his jacket. “SAM NO! You heard her!”

The portal begins to shift and shake;  Peggy starts crying and wailing from the effort not to drop the tube still gripped tightly in her hands. “Now, he has to go now!”

Steve runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and leans down next to his ear. “Thank you, Winchester. Thank you.”, before violently shoving the gurney all the way through the gap in time.

The gurney almost upends as it slams into Sam’s legs, and he and Jody just manage to steady it before she’s off and running, shouting for the paramedic to get his ass in gear.

Blood continues to snake it’s way down Dean’s chin and Sam drops to his knees next to him. “DEAN, DEAN. Look at me! You’re home, you’re home, we’ll get you fixed up just hang on!”

Peggy drops the tube, palms covered in vicious looking burns, and Gabe catches her before she collapses onto the ground.

As the portal begins to fade and the shimmering green light dims, Peggy sees Sam staring at her, gripping Dean’s shoulders, and mouthing _Thank you_.

The last thing any of the people living in 1944 see of Dean Winchester is a man in a white and blue uniform running in and slamming two flat plastic paddles against his chest and shouting _clear_.

~~~~~~~

Dean’s floating.

His head is full of cotton wool and his mouth is dry as dust, and he’s floating.

It feels like he’s flying, but he can’t be because he can feel the crisp white sheets encasing him, pinning him to a soft comfortable hospital bed.

Through the haze of the drugs that are being pumped into his system via a drip standing next to his bed, Dean can see Sam; head resting on the sheet next to his legs, eyes closed, drool dribbling from his slightly open lips.

As Dean tries to shift his hand, reach out and stroke Sam’s hair, he senses movement in the corner of the room and is pleased to see Jody uncurling herself from the ugly orange waiting room like chair.

“Hey, Dean. How you feeling?”

Dean struggles to breathe as he opens his mouth to reply and Jody rests a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Blink once for hell, twice for holy hell.”

Dean blinks three times and Jody laughs. “Is that holy fucking hell?”

Dean snorts and coughs, almost bringing up his stomach lining and feeling like someone’s resting a tank on his chest. The panic in his eyes is clear and Jody smiles softly, hoping to assuage some of the fear in her friend’s face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t panic. The bullet’s out, but you took some permanent damage to your left lung, that’s why it hurts so much to breathe, and talking might be an issue for a few days.

Jody automatically winds her fingers into Sam’s hair as he continues to sleep the sleep of the terminally fucking tired, and Dean raises then waggles his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Shut up!”

Dean blinks innocently and smirks.

“Don’t give me that butter wouldn’t melt look, I know what you **want** to say, and no, I won’t draw you a picture!”

Dean winks at one of his best friends before letting out a wheezy breath and yawning.

“Get some sleep, we’ll be here when you wake up. Promise.”

Dean drifts off with the mental image of Sam and Jody doing the horizontal tango flitting through his mind and he can’t wait to give Sammy crap for managing to land that!

 

 

 


	11. Epilogue

Dean’s been stuck in hospital for what seems like for-fucking-ever, and he’s so ready to get out of this god forsaken bright whiteness, he’s climbing the walls. Sam’s been a constant source of annoyance and amusement, a permanent fixture in the private hospital room Dean’s been languishing in for the last three fucking months, and it’s all Dean can do not to bite his brother’s head off as sits there staring smugly at him with Jody curled in his lap asleep. “Dude, could you possibly STOP canoodlin’ with your new squeeze whilst I lay here half dead?”

Sam makes a show of nuzzling Jody’s neck as she snoozes against his chest and snorts at Dean’s over exaggerated grimace. “You’re not half dead, stop your whining.”

Dean couldn’t actually be happier for Sam and Jody. They haven’t had a proper conversation about what exactly it is they’re _doing_ , but all signs point towards Jody becoming a regular visitor to their crazy little world.

It’s heartening to see Sam so happy, and yet Dean’s heart is still a little broken at the thought that he couldn’t say goodbye to Peggy.

Peggy Carter. What a woman!

Dean grins to himself as he remembers her quick wit and her amazing eyes, sparking at him, daring him to try his luck.

He’s going to miss her.

Sam sees a shadow resting behind Dean’s eyes and he wishes he could take away some of the pain, emotional and physical.

His brother’s all but healed. He still has trouble breathing too deeply, but the doctors have been in and tried to repair as much of the seemingly permanent damage as they can. It’s not really the physical that’s hurting Dean right now.

He’s told Sam all about Peggy, and Jim, Jaques, Gabe, Dum Dum, Falsworth, even Captain Rogers and Bucky. Sam sat in rapt attention as Dean relayed some of the Howling Commandos more high spirited hijinks.

Sam had wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold Dean, as he’d described a woman so perfect for him, she seemed unreal.

Absentmindedly scratching Jody’s back, Sam thinks perhaps the reason Dean’s never found anybody is that the one woman who could have slotted into his life was born in the wrong damned decade and Sam feels his brother’s pain at the loss of the maybe.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Steve sits on his bunk and sighs.

This world, this time, it’s nothing short of a miraculous nightmare.

He wishes with his whole heart that they’d left him in that ice layer. 

Peggy’s phone number sits on a crumpled piece of paper resting on his his cot and Steve wants desperately to phone her, but he wouldn’t know where to start. What the hell would he say?

Nothing comes to mind and he balls up the paper before angrily flicking it across the room.

Snatching up the tv remote - huh, television remote, technology is crazy here - Steve punches the buttons until he lands on some random news programme and instantly recognises the face of a man he never thought he’d see again.

Getting up and spinning the volume knob, Steve hears the announcer talking about local charity work in a hospital currently housing victims of all sorts of incidents and accidents, violent acts of crime and simple bad luck. 

In the far corner of one of the shots there’s a hazy image of Dean Winchester trundling slowly towards a lounge area, in a god awful floral dressing gown and wearing a look of utter contempt for the news crew that is clearly disturbing his calm.

“Well fuck!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean’s almost free. He’s dressed and pressed, and has actual pants on instead of those terrible nylon hospital trousers, and he’s never felt more happy to be putting on a layer of plaid in his entire life.

As he throws his jacket over his shoulder and grabs his duffel, Sam pokes his head into the room and coughs. 

“Dean, there’s someone here to see you.”

Not bothering to turn around, Dean huffs and throws his bag back on the floor. “Not another fuckin’ doctor, I can’t take another fuckin’ doctor proddin’ and pokin’ me.”

“Last I checked I wasn’t planning on poking **or** prodding you.”

Dean turns slowly, not believing his ears but absolutely sure he isn’t losing his mind, no more than usual at any rate. 

Sure enough, Steve Rogers is standing in the doorway with Sam looking at him like he’s the very embodiment of the second coming of Chuck, and babbling about what an honour it is to meet him.

“I - you’re - Captain - I mean Steve, sorry, yes, Captain Rogers.”

Sam thrusts his hand out and Steve grins whilst taking and shaking it.

“Sam Winchester, I presume.”

Dean almost runs across the room and throws himself at Steve, who deftly catches him and wraps him in a hug that threatens to re-crack the only-just-healed ribs he fractured back in 1944. “What the FUCK?”

Steve breathes deeply and holds on for a second longer than is necessary before placing Dean back on his feet and stepping away. “Long story, Winchester. Fancy a catch up?”

Sam smiles and steps out of the room, leaving Dean and his friend to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Steve, I’m so sorry.”

“I lost him anyway, Dean. All you did and I - he’s - he’s gone and I’m not sure I should even be here.”

Dean squeezes Steve’s knee and offers him a sympathetic smile. “And Peggy, did she?”

Steve nods and smirks. “Nothing keeps Carter down, Dean. She founded SHIELD.”

“Holy crap!”

“Indeed. Your language in this year is - “

“Hey, I only stopped cussin’ so Peggy would stop threatening to slap me silly.”

Steve knows Dean’s dying to ask but won’t, so offers the information freely. “She survived, by the way. She’s alive. She’s so alive. She married, had a life and a job and a whole world of adventures.”

As Dean imagines Peggy in a delicate white dress, lips painted bright red, hair curled perfectly, smile on her beautiful face. He smiles a genuine smile of happiness for his - friend. “Have you spoken to her?”

Steve looks guiltily at the floor and shrugs. “No, what would I say? Hey Peg, remember me?!”

Dean snorts and Steve laughs at his own morose sarcasm. “So, back to hunting, is it?”

Dean nods and slips off the bed. “Yep, it’s what we do. Hey, though - you ever get bored of saving the world and all that crap - “

Steve laughs loudly, stands and wraps Dean in one last hug. “I’ll look you up, Winchester. Maybe we could tag-team save the world.”

Dean wanders from the room with Steve following on behind and wonders what _that_ would be like. “Maybe, maybe. I’ll catch you later, Cap. Don’t go gettin’ frozen again, I hear it plays havoc on the skin. Wrinkles at your age would be a nightmare.”

The sound of Steve Rogers walking quietly down the corridor away from Dean and chuckling to himself reverberates back, and Dean finds himself thinking he might just keep in contact with the world’s first avenger.

 

 

Fin


End file.
